


Sea Salt

by acrosspontneuf (FangedAngel)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Sunsets, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25106488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangedAngel/pseuds/acrosspontneuf
Summary: As Kenway walks closer, Dahlia notices an expression on his face that she hasn't seen before. He's staring at her like he's been stunned into silence and Dahlia resists the instilled urge to reach up and fix her hair.
Relationships: Edward Kenway/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Sea Salt

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful Dahlia belongs to the wonder that is [Sany](https://twitter.com/sanyflameart), my patron and amazing friend. Check out her epic art of Dahlia [here](https://twitter.com/sanyflameart/status/1279045886052577280?s=20) (full photo is slightly NSFW). This is the start of several vignettes featuring this excellent couple so do stay tuned for lots of pining and adventure. The poem fragment is from Ovid's Amores (I.2) because Edward Kenway does not do subtlety.

When Dahlia trains, the enormity of the world narrows down in vividly minute details and becomes a space she fully controls. She is aware of everything: the crackling of the fire she built when the sun started setting, the sweetness of the breeze tangling in her hair, the melodic rhythm of the ocean, the birds calling to each other, the murmur of the swaying palm tree leaves in concert with the whisk ferns. There is sea salt on her lips and on her skin and everything is bathed in glorious nuances of pinks and purples, the sun melting golden into the horizon line. 

The beauty of it takes Dahlia's breath away every time. She'll never get used to the way it makes her feel, the way the time she steals for herself on the island makes her feel almost at peace. She trains in the dying light, her movements perfectly harmonious with her surroundings, a dance that is much more satisfying than the restricting steps she was taught as a girl, most often when she was so hungry she couldn't focus on what she was supposed to be practicing. 

This evening, a brilliantly coloured array of fruit and vegetables awaits on a platter next to the fire, slices of mango and sweet potato waiting to be carefully roasted, with coconut and pineapple for dessert. If she weren't so used to everything always falling apart, Dahlia would feel like she's discovered a slice of paradise, but darkness and danger lurk in every shadow, her sharp senses as acute of them as ever. She allows herself these moments of calm away from her crew, but never really trusts in how idyllic they seem. 

The firewood cracks again but an odd feeling washes over her and makes Dahlia's steps stutter and cease. There is something out of place, something familiar but dissonant, and Dahlia's ready for it. When she looks up towards the top of the hill she finds the reason for the feeling and rolls her eyes., because of course it’s him. Nevertheless, Captain Edward Kenway of the Jackdaw remains no threat to her, even though he insists on being an utter pest and finding her even when she's away from Nassau. 

As he walks closer, Dahlia notices an expression on his face that she hasn't seen before. He's staring at her like he's been stunned into silence and Dahlia resists the instilled urge to reach up and fix her hair. Captain Kenway is probably taken aback by how dishevelled she looks, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of looking 'proper' for him. She is not ruled by those norms anymore.

'Hullo, Captain Tempest,' he calls out with that smug grin Dahlia intensely dislikes. He looks as cocky as ever, but there’s still something odd in his eyes, a touch of nerves she’s not seen in him before.  


‘Why must you always insist on intruding, Kenway?’ Dahlia asks, but there’s not much heat to her words and he -infuriatingly- knows it, which makes him grin even more.

She distrusts him as much as she always has, since he swaggered onto her beaten ship that very first time. She’s met too many men like him, ruled by ambition and arrogance, caring only about achieving wealth and stopping at nothing to pursue it. They’ve achieved a sort of truce, the terms of which keep adhering to silent rules that are constantly adapting. She’s allowed herself to be more candid with him about her life before becoming Tempest, she’s allowed him to keep seeking her out when she goes away on her small islands getaways. It’s as cordial as Dahlia is comfortable being around someone like Kenway.

‘Oh how you wound me, Captain!’ Kenway says, with exaggerated amounts of pathos that make her scowl.

Giving up on the rest of her training, Dahlia sits next to the fire and starts roasting her dinner. Kenway doesn’t wait for her to invite him to sit down before doing so, and she almost tells him off for it before noticing how he keeps fumbling with something hidden in his coat, that odd look of nervousness flickering across his face more and more.  
‘Are you alright there, Kenway?’ she enquires, her attention focused on the sweet potatoes and the mango that she is roasting on sticks made out of guaiacum, their scent wrapping around them like the night that is taking full reign over the island.

He cracks a few insipid jokes as she finishes making dinner and begrudgingly offers him some, and then he pulls out a book, the golden lettering on the red cover catching the firelight and stealing her breath for a moment. 

‘I found something I thought you might have use for,’ Kenway says, his voice softer than usual. Few people know about Dahlia’s background, about her late father, about his love for poetry that he passed on to her. She’d told Kenway in passing when they were talking about England, one night when the tavern’s spiced rum coaxed memories from her. She never expected him to remember.

Kenway hands her the book and she touches it with a reverence she only reserves for words. It’s Ovid, and somehow it’s the same edition her father had, the same one he’d read to her from in his study. Dahlia used to know the lines by heart and their contours feel intimately familiar still as she brushes her fingertips over the letters, her dinner forgotten. Words were most of the sustenance she was raised with in an impoverished family still clinging desperately to its past status. They are still one of the biggest comforts in her life.

‘May I read to you?’ Kenway asks, another hint of nervousness hiding in his voice. She blames that for the immediate ease of her acquiescence. Her hands feel oddly empty when she hands him the book back, settling back in her seat and washing her hands with the water she’s gathered for this purpose in coconut shells.

She busies herself with nibbling on a slice of roasted mango, the whisper of pages turning soothing her senses. She feels flustered for no reason, her cheeks burning due to the proximity of the fire, no doubt. The breeze cools down her skin, murmuring promises alongside the waves, and when the smoky roughness of his voice joins the ambiental noise it fits right into the melody.

‘ _Because it’s stone, I ask who’s made my bed this way:  
Sweet sleep slips off, and sweat-soaked sheets won’t stay.  
All night I cannot sleep at all, but toss and turn  
Until my bones ache and my muscles burn.  
I think I’d know if racking Love tormented me—  
Unless he hid his arts in secrecy_,’ Edward reads, and there’s something utterly fascinating about his voice, about nighttime on the island, about the way the fire reflects in his eyes.

It’s not the first time he’s read these words. He doesn’t stumble once, as lost in the lines as her. It feels strangely like a bonding experience, and Dahlia’s cheeks keep burning.

‘ _That must be it. He’s let it fly, his sneaky dart,  
And I’m so weak, he twists it in my heart.  
Should I give in—and up? Or fight—and feed the fire?  
Surrender, or he’ll pile the pyre higher_!’

Edward looks at her then, catching her looking at him, and they both stare at each other, ridiculously, for a moment that stretches far too long, the words heavy in the space between them. She’s never considered anything about him captivating before, but the blue of his eyes feels as mesmerising as the cut of his jawline in a way she can’t even question. Something about this feels like the memory of a beautiful dream, like being home and safe in her father’s study, like the potential of a future where she could feel safe again. It feels like warmth, like an unavoidable connection. 

The moment finally breaks when the fire dims, demanding attention. Kenway looks as surprised as Dahlia feels, and they both awkwardly fumble around each other as he hands her the book again, telling her it’s ‘for safekeeping’ as he smiles at her in a way she finds far less grating than usual.

After Kenway takes his leave, Dahlia opens the book to continue reading. It takes a long time before her thoughts settle enough to allow her to focus on the words. The shadow of his presence remains by her side late into the night.


End file.
